Into The Ocean
by Chiiharu
Summary: I’m living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there’s a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.
1. I Am The Messenjah

**A/N:** Hi, inFAMOUS lovers. I figured I'd make my mark in this fandom. So. This is kinda like a OC/Cole friendship thing. I want to try for... maybe some Zeke/Moya or something. Or Moya/Cole. XD Parings are good! This fandom doesn't have many! This is in first person PoV from my OC. So. Read on, people. I need your good R&R.

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**-: Chapter One: I Am The Messenjah :-**

_I message, written in rhyme, prophetic  
Teachers amongst the skeptics and guiding the misdirected  
Infected with their lies and their alibis  
With their third eye blind, out of line, they try to prophesy  
I and I unfold the mysteries told  
From the futuristic realms to the days of old._

_Make straight through the path of the one voice calling  
Truth shines, back again two times in the Second Coming._

-- POD -- "I Am The Messenjah"

Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now you tell me what _you_ know.

I'm getting less good at faking it. People in my family are noticing and asking what's wrong. My friends give me invitations to talk, to cry. I love them for their caring, but I want to run from it. I have lost their language, their facility with words that convey feelings. I am in new territory and feel like a foreigner in theirs.

But I kept telling myself one thing. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Fear of self is the greatest of all terrors, the deepest of all dread, the commonest of all mistakes. From it grows failure. Because of it, life is a mockery. Out of it comes despair. And boy, I was afraid of myself. I had a great family. But even more so, I had a great kid. I had adopted her just before the blast. Just before the same blast that had fucked up my way of life up forever.

In truth, a family is what you make it. It is made strong, not by number of heads counted at the dinner table, but by the rituals you help family members create, by the memories you share, by the commitment of time, caring, and love you show to one another, and by the hopes for the future you have as individuals and as a unit. That blast took it all away from me. The real question isn't whether or not you love your kids, but how well you are able to demonstrate your love and caring so that your children really feel loved.

I started changing during the second week of quarantine. I dunno if it was exactly at the time, but that's how I remember it. People started dying around me. Almost as if I was draining the life right out of them. I began to act weird—needing a drink of water every fifteen minutes. Sometimes I wouldn't even be hungry. Sometimes—all I needed was a quick fix of beer or something. To lemonade—to fine wine—as long as it was some type of liquid, I would drink it.

And yes, I know what you're thinking. If I was truly parched, I wouldn't hesitate to drink my own piss. There was no way in hell I wanted to… but I couldn't stop myself. I was becoming something else. Something inhumane. Something terrifying.

The anxiety of being able to control my urges was like poison ivy. It took nothing to set off that mental itch—a chance remark, remembering an event from the day before—but once it started, I found it impossible to stop the cycle. My thoughts twisted in a circle, my pulse hammered, I couldn't concentrate.

The anxiety, I told myself, was a sign of improvement; at least it wasn't despair. But in some ways it _was worse_. It was like being locked in an airtight box, about to run out of oxygen. Impossible at those moments to sit still, impossible to complete a task, impossible to do anything but get outside and walk, for miles, trying to outrace it. It was like a crazy itch, way down under my skin, and I never knew when it would attack.

I sat for days saying, "This is a strange business. You're the strange business. You have the energy of the sun in you, but you keep knotting it up at the base of your spine."

I never liked water. I never could swim. As a matter of fact, drowning was one of my fears. But as I kept living, more people around me kept _dying_. First, my mother Jeanne. Next, my father. I had lost them. You want to know what was going through my mind? They didn't die from natural disease. They didn't die from old age. They didn't die from Reaper attacks. The doctors at the hospitals told me they died from _dehydration_. And I was the one being a total _water-_freak. Sure, I was probably overreacting. But here's the thing. My wonderful daughter, Yvonne started showing signs of dehydration.

Dehydration occurs when the amount of water leaving the body is greater than the amount being taken in. The body is very dynamic and always changing. This is especially true with water in the body. We lose water routinely when we: breath, as humidified air leaves the body, when we sweat to cool the body, and when we urinate or have a bowel movement to rid the body of waste products.

In a normal day, a person has to drink a significant amount of water to replace this routine loss. My folks were very healthy people, and they hardly did anything around the house.

Basically, I was losing it. And that's an understatement. When the city went under quarantine, we weren't the richest people on the planet. Yvonne and I had to sleep in the same room together. And by the time I had started to notice Yvonne getting sicker, I wanted to stay as far as I could away from her. Y'know, it hurt. Being a parent, all I wanted was to be near her.

And that's when despair started to kick in. I thought that the despair would stop me cold, but it didn't: it wrapped itself up in a dark corner somewhere inside me and forced the rest of my system to function, to take care of practical matters, which may not have been important—but which keep kept me going, which guaranteed that I was still, somehow, alive.

But if I had let go of the feelings which caused me pain, I would have no feelings at all. It wasn't apathy. It wasn't even angst (though it was something close to it). I didn't know what the hell this feeling was, truthfully.

Who ever said that misery loved company? My misery did not love company. My misery loved to be alone. My misery threatened to bludgeon company. So, not standing the fact that I couldn't even be by my own daughter, I began to walk the streets, often leaving her in the company of one of my friends. Y'know, when a bomb blows half a city sky high, people have _no choice _but to walk the streets. Walking around, I didn't know the city was this bad. There were Reapers everywhere. People being terrorized. Policemen dying. Hell, there were even people trying to eat people. This was no place to live. It had certainly turned into a dog-eat-dog world.

People were like lice—they got under your skin and buried themselves there. You scratch and scratch until the blood comes, but you can't get permanently deloused. Everywhere I went, people were making a mess of their lives. Everyone had had his private tragedy. It was in the blood now—misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere was saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch—until there's no skin left.

I looked around me and all I saw were miserable people. Everyone was in the rat race to try and outdo everyone else. Money, power, greed, corruption, sex. Life just seemed to be a mixture of eating, sleeping, fornicating and excreting waste. I don't mean to sound like some kind of depressed nihilist but it's true—our lives were meaningless.

We procreate and have miserable children who go about doing the same stupid things that have been done since the beginning of time.

Hate, racism, fascism, murder, rape ... Over and over forever.

I consider myself to be a fairly open minded person, and I just find it hard to understand why our world is so fucked up. We have the technology and infrastructure to set up a system where everyone could be fed and clothed and supplied with the basic necessities for living a decent life, yet most of the world lives in extreme poverty. Even now, with this quarantine.

I was beginning to think, "Our whole world is nothing but a world of grief and misery, and its inhabitants are nothing but grieving and miserable people. The living beings on this earth are all destined for slaughter. The azure heaven and the round earth are no more than a great slaughter-yard, a great prison."

Okay, I thought. Here you are. You are here. And you move forward because that's the way it works; that's the only place you can go. You keep going until it stops hurting, or until you find new things to hurt you worse, I guess. And that is the human condition, all of us lurching along in our own private miseries, because that's the way it is.

I was thinking how amazing it was that the world contained so many lives. Out in these streets people were embroiled in a thousand matters, money problems, love problems, school problems. People were falling in love, getting married, going to drug rehab, learning how to ice-skate, getting bifocals, studying for exams, trying on clothes, getting their hair cut, and getting born. And in some houses people were getting old and sick and were dying, leaving others to grieve. It was happening all the time, unnoticed, and that was the thing that really mattered.

Before I found out for myself, I might have imagined that in the aftermath of personal apocalypse, the little bothers of life would effectively vanish. But it's not true. You still feel chills, you still despair when a package is lost in the mail, and you still feel irked to discover you were shortchanged at Starbucks. My thoughts were interrupted. Here I was, standing with… God knows how many people… and I heard this bloodcurdling screaming. It was something that I thought I would have never heard in my life. It was a sound I'd expect to come from dogs. And there was a man. Skinny, afraid. This man stood right in front of me. Perplexed. Afraid. Trying to figure out what sort of monster was running towards us. With a bomb in its hand.

I could have told him that nothing was safe, and that no matter how careful you were and how hard you tried, there were still accidents, hidden traps, and snares. You could get killed on an airplane or crossing the street. Your marriage could fall apart when you weren't looking; your husband could lose his job; your baby could get sick or die. I could have said that nothing is safe, that the surface of the world is pretty and sane, but underneath it's all fault lines and earthquakes waiting to happen.

But I didn't open my mouth. My lungs felt like bursting with water. It was humid that day.

Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So, what are we, helpless? Puppets? Nah. The big moments are gonna come, you can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.

"Get out of the way," I commanded, pushing the man on the concrete. "Never stand in the way of a running man. _An armed dangerous man,_ no less."

In violence, it is the getting away that you concentrate on. When you begin to go over the edge, life receding from you as a boat recedes inevitably from shore, you hold on to death tightly, like a rope that will transport you, and you swing out on it, hoping only to land away from where you are. My black hair managed to float as my hood came down. And the ends of my hair floated even higher into the air. And then my hands... The people standing around me started to … feel weak… for lack of a better word. And then I felt the power surging through my veins. My hands started to get wet. It was weird.

That day, I was wearing a voile skirt that offered a new take with ruffles on the top and three pleated layers with jagged hems. It was a mini-skirt. I also wore really baggy leg warmers. My hoodie was rather big, and when I stood up straight, I could hardly see my fingers. My hair is black, and I wear it down. And I'm about 5'7". But none of that was any of my concern right now.

I found out who I was.

Humidity is the amount of water vapor in the air. In daily language the term "humidity" is normally taken to mean relative humidity. Relative humidity is defined as the ratio of the partial pressure of water vapor in a parcel of air to the saturated vapor pressure of water vapor at a prescribed temperature. Humidity may also be expressed as absolute humidity and specific humidity. Relative humidity is an important metric used in forecasting weather. Humidity indicates the likelihood of precipitation, dew, or fog. High humidity makes people feel hotter outside in the summer because it reduces the effectiveness of sweating to cool the body by preventing the evaporation of perspiration from the skin. This effect is calculated in a heat index table.

The screaming guy stopped making any amount of noise. Water, from my hands, began to strangle the man. I felt no remorse. It was a quick death. The man that I just saved, not hurt, but drained, began to gasp at me.

"Who… who are you?"

"Nérine. The name's Nérine." And I walked away.

This was a period of hope, true, but we harbor the illusion that times of hope are devoid of tensions and conflicts when, in my experience, they are the most dangerous. Hope for some means its loss for others; when the hopeless regain some hope, those in power—the ones who had taken it away—become afraid, more protective of their endangered interests, more repressive. In many ways these times of hope, of greater leniency, were as disquieting as before.

Hope was like the sun, which, as I journey toward it, was bound to give me cancer. … We need hope as surely as we need food and water, love, and friendship. The trick, however, is to remember that hope is a perilous thing, that it's not a steel and concrete bridge across the void between this moment and a brighter future. Hope is no stronger than tremulous beads of dew strung on a filament of spider web, and it alone can't long support the terrible weight of an anguished mind and a tortured heart.


	2. Going In Blind

**A/N:** Thanks for the love, guys. Though these author's notes tend to get long because of the love. Don't stop bringing the love!

**-x-.'Somebody's Nobody'.-x-:** Thanks for all the support. I appreciate that you can appreciate a good read. And I had a lot of fun writing the last chapter. I think my forte lies with dark stuff anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks. You know I'm notoriously known for my artistic skills with OCs. And a big ego. XD At first, I was kind of conflicted with having her powers be water-based. Water isn't an original ability to control at all, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible.

**Eugar:** You know I've got mad respect for your thoughts and comments all ready. I hope you approve of everything that happens in this chapter, and keep giving me those important thoughts of yours.

**The Messaged:** Cool. I'm glad I opened your eyes. I hope you like this chapter.

**JessiKa xoxo:** XD Your review made me smile. Insanly. And blush a little. Thank you for your kind comments. Awww. I'm glad you like my stuff.

**Infected Vulpine:** Thanks. And I say this from the bottom of my heart. But I'm not an adult. I'm just fifteen. XD And Latin. I'm willing to help you anytime you need help!

And now, the chapter!

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**-: Chapter Two: Going In Blind :-**

_This life is*not*_ _like you wanted it.  
His eyes I can see again, I need you here.  
In your mind nobody's listening.  
It's alright not to feel again,  
Just breath again..._

_Time after time I walk the fine line,  
But something keeps bringing me back.  
Time after time I'm going in blind,  
I don't know which way I need to go..._

--- "Going In Blind" -- POD

It's true: Everyone needs a reason to stay alive—someone who justifies your existence. Someone who loves you. Not beyond all reason. Just loves you. Even just shows an interest. Even someone who doesn't exist, or isn't yours. No, no. They don't even have to love you! They just have to be there to love. Target for your arrows. Magnetic Pole to drag on your compass needle and stop it spinning and spinning and tell you where you're heading and… Someone to soak up all the yearning. That's what I think.

Grotesque, bizarre, uncanny, _étrange_… some things just defy the tight, little categories into which we stuff our conceptual realities. And when they do, all hell breaks loose. Minds crack, institutions buckle. The power of grotesqueries and other irrational artifacts of the human world lies in their challenge to the collective moral order of what we consider to be "natural."

So, yes. I didn't get too far away from the man I saved. … When faced with an image that contradicts our sense of what is natural or what is morally "right," we give into either psychic paranoia or desire. Some of us will be hijacked by our anxiety over negotiating the dark terrors prescribed by cultural consensus; others of us will enjoy the seduction of palpable uncertainty. I turned a corner, my arms folded behind my head nonchalantly. Usually, I didn't get too caught up in whatever the hell the Reapers were conducting. As long as they didn't bother me. It wasn't like I could take them on if they _did_, anyway.

I am old. Well, not that old. I am a twenty-six-year old woman, mind you. I could have taken on maybe _one_ or _two_ gang punks, but not a _slew_ of them.

That was _exactly _what I saw right before my eyes.

But they _weren't _Reapers. No, they were different. And along with them, there was a large group of men surrounding something. There was no way in hell I was going to risk my life because I turned a bad street corner. So, I did the smart thing and hid behind a dumpster, crouching down on my knees. Standing alongside the gang members were about five males in white lab coats.

Dreaming was easier than screaming, and screaming was easier than worrying, and worrying was easier than crying, which was what I knew I would be reduced to if I didn't keep a hard eye on myself. I could barely see the men, but one of the scientist had shoulder-length jet-black hair. He looked like he took care of his hair meticulously. Not one strand of hair was out of place. He had his arms folded, letting me know spot on that this man was an arrogant piece of garbage. And if that wasn't enough, he had a smirk dancing across his lips.

"Kessler would be pleased with himself, don't you think?" the man chortled, laughing up a storm. "And to think, we just changed guns and bombs to simplistic little toys. Water guns, to be precise." I wiped a strand of my black hair out of my eyes. I didn't quite understand what they were saying. I knew it had nothing to do with me, but I was afraid of leaving. Of making a sound. Of making the wrong move. And besides, I wasn't sure how'd these guys would react to a woman wearing a baggy hoodie that her friend bought her, a frilly skirt, and baggy leg-warmers just jumping out of nowhere.

There's a part of me that loves to go out in the world looking like a total slob. I guess it's my way of saying, "Fuck it. I don't give a shit about what anyone thinks I look like." And yet, another part of me knows that under the defiance, the way I look is a reflection of the way I feel, a walking advertisement of myself as a loser. One of the gang grunts moved, and there I saw a man. Probably in his late-twenties. He looked oddly familiar. All I knew was that he was still alive, giving everyone around him dangerous looks. But he was weak. The man just laid there, unable to do anything.

Against my will, my right hand started to pulse. For a long time, I believed the opposite of passion was death. I was wrong. Passion and death are implicit, one in the other. Past the border of a fiery life lies the netherworld. I can trace this road, which took me through places so hot the very air burned the lungs. I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame. Whatever the hell those men were doing, I didn't like it. But first I had to figure out what they were planning. They arrogant guy with the girly hair held something. A book bag, I believe. And he was handling it as if he didn't care about the contents inside.

"You think you can just take me down with a little water," the man said, and then the oddest thing happened. Sparks began to fly through the air from both of his hands. "I've got enough energy to charge a shitload of cars. I'd suggest you leave before things get ugly."

"Sonofabitch," I whispered. My body didn't take well to seeing all that electricity. In fact, I'd say it didn't like that show at all. Just the sight of blue, pure electricity sent my body into a panic attack. All the same, my depression and self-hatred, my desire to mutilate myself with broken bottles, my numbness and crying fits, my inability to get out of bed for days and days, the feeling of the world moving in to crush me, went on and on. But I knew I wouldn't go mad, even if that release, that letting-go, was a freedom I desired. I was waiting for myself to heal. "That's that guy. The guy with the weird powers." And at the point, I wanted to smack myself. At least now I knew that there was someone in the city that had what I had. And I could ask him questions. I needed this guy alive. I needed to at least try to save him. For my daughter.

"Cole MacGrath," the brunette guy hissed. "I wouldn't be the one making wagers. I assume you know what happened to Trish."

"Shut the hell up. You weren't the cause of that," Cole spat, sarcastically. "Now, I'm not going to ask again. Leave. And how do you know Trish? I don't even think I know your ass!" Cole rolled painfully to his side, pushing himself up and leaning heavily on his arm, electricity radiating off of him. Again, my body response wasn't a normal one. I'll never escape. It drives me mad. I must, must, must do something. I feel as if I'm at the earth's heart. I've got the weight of the whole earth pressing in on this little box. It grows smaller and I can feel it contracting. I want to scream sometimes. Till my voice is raw. To death. I can't write it. There aren't the words. Utter despair. I've been like that all day. A kind of endless panic in slow motion.

"How could I forget, Cole MacGrath?" the man mused, pushing up his glasses with his free hand. "Why, yes, I'm Doctor Hudson. I found some papers that belong to Kessler—and you're going to come with us. Won't you help us, Cole? I can promise you whatever you desire."

"Like hell." Cole answered. Hudson looked at Cole with an amused expression on his face. Cole climbed first to his knees, and then unsteadily to his feet. "I don't want anything to do with Kessler. He's dead. And if this has anything to do with the Ray Sphere, that's gone too. Get off my back before I fry you guys like fish in an ocean. Last chance."

"You don't want to take my army on, Cole," Hudson spoke, extending his arms to all the grunts around him. "Gangs just don't expand and never come back, Cole. These Dustman are far superior than they were when you first encountered them. Please. It'll be such a shame to bring you back harmed." Cole didn't even care about what came out of Hudson's mouth. Cole flexed his arms, lighting literally screaming from his body. It was an amazing site. Sparks danced into the sky. No, no. There were too many of them. Cole couldn't possibly bring them down at such a close position. I closed my eyes for a bit, absorbing the water molecules in the air. It was my time to shine. Though I knew I couldn't do anything.

Blues like this lives out of sight of the world, I think. It seems more a solid organic mass than a mood that can blow away or be lifted. It lies there and says, _Go ahead, try to budge me_. ... Blues like this doesn't have ears. It can't be disturbed. It has nothing to do with sadness or even grief—which at least are imaginable emotions.

One of the many things I hate about the word "depression" is the assumption of blankness attached to it, as if the experience of depression is as absent on the inside as it looks to be from the outside. That is wrong. Depression is a place that teems with nightmarish activity. It's a one-industry town, a psychic megalopolis devoted to a single twenty-four-hour-we-never-close product. You work misery as a teeth-grinding muscle-straining job (is that why it's so physically exhausting?), proving your shameful failures to yourself over and over again. Depression says you can get blood from a stone, and so that's what you do. Competing voices are an irritating distraction from the work. No wonder depression doesn't get invited out much. Not because it's not the life of the party, it knows it's not that, but because self-absorption as a work ethic is so prickly and one-eyed. That's okay with depression—it figures, who'd want to be friends with it, anyway?

I yearned to get better; I told myself I was getting better. In fact, the depression was still there, like a powerful undertow. Sometimes it grabbed me, yanked me under; other times, I swam free.

If I attacked the guys around Cole, would I hurt him? But more importantly, would I_ hurt myself_? After all, he could control electricity. I could control water. Doesn't water conduct electricity? Very pure water is a very bad conductor of electricity, but even tiny amounts of ionic impurities can make it conduct. Seawater, for example, conducts water very well. In order to get rid of organic solvents which harm the ozone layer, electronic manufacturers have been washing things in very pure water, In this case, the conductivity of the water is a very good measure of how pure it is: as soon as it stats to conduct an appreciable amount of electricity, they know they have to change the water. Unless you know that it is extraordinarily pure, you should assume that water is conductive. Generally speaking, water and electricity _should not _mix. Would I _kill us both?_

Water danced between my fingers. Water danced around my arms. My hair started to disappear on its ends, somehow turning into water vapor. All eyes spun towards me as a came from behind the dumpster. Hudson looked bemused, but angry all the same. "Intruders come from intrusting places—" he paused, his body rippling in fear. Hudson glanced at the crystal-clear water surrounding me like clockwork. I glanced at Cole, who was just speechless. "Nérine! You were in Kessler's concealed reports. I was wondering what happened to you." I didn't know what the hell this guy was talking about. I didn't know a Kessler.

I smiled a bit, strengthening my stance. "Well, the only thing I know is that your name's Hudson. And your trying to start trouble. So, I'm going to ask you to leave this guy alone.

"That isn't possible, Nérine, Sweetheart," he answered. I threw up in my mouth a little bit. I didn't want to picture myself 'taken' because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anyone spoke to me, or looked at me too closely, the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I think there can be no greater suffering than the state of mind I find myself in at present. I am sane enough to know that I am no longer sane. Somewhere, somehow, I am being dragged over a line, a line which never even existed for me until now. It's I, not someone else, but I, who am crossing that line, and I see no way to stop myself.

I have become, inexplicably, a wandering and completely bewildered stranger in the realm of my emotions. I can no longer find my way back to my familiar and known world where I did dwell once in some harmony with myself. Everyone is on the other side of an impenetrable glass. We can see each other, but we cannot reach each other, and I am stretching out my hand in vain. I am alone and abandoned in the dark, and I am terrified, beyond any understanding, and the not understanding leaves me in a state of paralyzing panic.

I can't move in any direction. I am becoming more and more rigid physically. I am afraid that if I turn my head, even a little I will see my horrible terrors and they will overwhelm me. I think I'm being followed—I am running through endless, twisting, pitch-dark tunnels, and I can't find my way out. There is no light at the end of any turn I take. I can't turn back. I am being backed into the darkest and last corner of all. Oh, yes, I know it's not rational, but I can't stop thinking these monstrous thoughts.

I long to escape from these feelings that I can neither understand nor bear. Where is there a place for me, where can I go, where can I turn, save deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of my poor sick mind?

My mind is dying and I want to die with it. The pain is too much to bear. Even my body hurts. My terrors are crushing me, smothering me. I can't breathe—I can't communicate my fears to anyone with any hope that they will be understood. I am locking myself up in a prison of my own making, a horrible, painful prison, to which I have no key.

There is only one escape, and that is death. I wanted to plan—each day and night—how to take my life. It is hard to believe that I, who loved life so much, was planning to kill myself—find myself longing for death. I am obsessed with one desire—to blot out a mind that can harbor and play with such thoughts. Someone must help me—safe me from myself, for what will become of me?

Cole and I flinched at the sound of a helicopter reeling overhead us. Hudson walked nonchalantly towards me, while his lackeys watched Cole. "Can't hold an investigation without backup, can you, Nérine? Cole?" I didn't want to listen to a creep that I didn't even know. And the helicopter was packing some serious heat. It was apparent that Cole was a tad weak, despite the fact that he could radiate so much lightning.

"Shit," Cole mumbled, blasting a few Dustman with blood-lusting, frightening blue lightning. This lightning scared me. Whom can I talk to about my powers? Get advice from? No one. A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money. And I won't take advice, even if I want it. I am beyond help. No one here has time to probe, to aid me in understanding myself… so many others are worse off than I. How can I selfishly demand help, solace, guidance? No, it is my own mess, and even if now I have lost my sense of perspective, thereby my creative sense of humor, I will not let myself get sick, go mad, or retreat like a child into blubbering on someone else's shoulder. "Now I've got to baby-sit."

"Est-ce que ce la vie où vous voulez est pour mener, Nérine?" Hudson began, blending in with the group of scientists. He was talking to me in French, oddly. I had taken French in high school. I wasn't exactly good at it, but I could make out what he was saying. Hudson basically said, _Is this the life you want to lead, Nérine? "_Vous pouvez sauver le monde, ou détruisez-le, amoureux. Bien, peut-être pas. Mais Cole peut. Entretien à lui pour moi. Svp. Le monde a besoin de ceci." _You can save the world, or destroy it, Sweetheart. Well, maybe not. But Cole can. Talk to him for me. Please. The world needs this. _

Now I stand here, crying almost, afraid, seeing the finger writing my hollow futility on the wall, damning me—God, where is the integrating force going to come from? My life up till now seems messy, inconclusive, disorganized: I arranged my courses wrong, played my strategy without unifying rules—got excited at my own potentialities, yet amputated some to serve others. I am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness… I go plodding on, afraid that the blank hell in back of my eyes will break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, afraid that the disease which eats away the pith of my body with merciless impersonality will break forth in obvious sores and warts, screaming "Traitor, sinner, imposter."

I'd been depressed before, of course. But I'm talking about really depressed. Not just feeling a bit down or sad, a depression that has something to do with biorhythms. I'm talking about the kind of depressed that floats in upon you like a fog. You can feel it coming and you can see where it is going to take you but you are powerless, utterly powerless to stop it. I know now.

"Hey! Move!"

I didn't know if Cole was talking to me or not, but my body instantly dropped. An upsetting bolt of dancing lightning was aimed at Hudson. I came towards the ground with a vicious thud, my cell-phone and I-Pod falling out of the pocket of my hoodie. Amazingly, Cole had taken care of all the Dustman. But the other scientists had vanished. With inhuman speed and provision, Cole extended both of his hands and literally sucked the life out of my i-Pod. It was weird. Hudson snickered as the lighting that was _suppose _to hit him totally disappeared.

"How the hell did you do that?!" Cole asked, somewhat irritated.

"Technology, MacGrath. I don't need the Ray Sphere. I don't need to rebuild it. But I do need you,_ Infâme_ Cole." After Hudson finished his sentence, the helicopter that was above us started to rain bullets at us. I was mortified. I had never been shot at before.

But I had been shot now.

Cole put up a shield, but there was just one problem. I didn't know how—of even if I could—make a shield of my own. A bullet landed in my leg, causing me extreme pain. I bit my lower lip to stop from screaming. No one needed to hear that.

Cole let his shield down, and the helicopter _and_ Hudson were gone. The only things left were dead bodies. There was a long pause, neither one of us wanting to acknowledge the situation.

"You realize… if I try to heal you, you'll probably burn up like the sun, right?" Came the raspy voice of Cole. He was looking over me, as if he was taking some type of pity on me. …Not everyone is born a witch or a saint. Not everyone is born talented, or crooked, or blessed; some are born definite in no particular at all. We are a fountain of shimmering contradictions, most of us. Beautiful in the concept, if we're lucky, but frequently tedious or regrettable as we flesh ourselves out.

And then my phone starts to ring. Slowly, I make my way over to where it had landed by crawling. As soon as I see my daughter's face on the screen, all of my pain disappeared. I flipped my phone open.

"Mother… when are you coming back? Jack's getting weird! He keeps failing at playing cards with me! It's boring over here!" Even her nagging was enough to warm my heart. I forced a smile.

"Yvonne? Yvonne. I can't talk to you right now."

"But, Mom…"

"Really. Play nice. I'll be back to tuck you in. Bye." And I clicked the receiver.

"Your kid?" Cole asked. I nodded my head. I wanted to scream. My daughter was so close to me, but then so far away. I felt like saying something, but I didn't want to say anything! I felt like… I felt like…

"Is everyone in my life fuckin' bananas?!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, trying to sit up. Alone, we are alive. Alone does not necessarily mean in solitude: we are not just the lone figure on the far shore. This is a populous world, and we are most often alone in a crowd. It is a state less of body than mind. The word alone should not, for us, ring cold and hollow, but hot. Pulsing with potentiality. Alone as in distinct. Alone as in, _alone in his field_. As in, _stand alone_. As in, like it or not, _leave me alone_. This word wants rescuing, this word wants pride. This word wants to be washed and shined.

I don't like to open up to people.

The people around me think I am maladjusted. Of course I am adjusted just fine, just not to their frequency. They take it personally.

They take offense. Feel hurt. Get angry. They do not blame owls for coming out at night, yet they blame me for being as I am. Because it involves them, or at least they believe it does. They assemble the troops and call us names.

Crazy. Cold. Stuck-up. Standoffish. Aloof. Afraid. Lacking in social skills. Bizarre. Unable to connect. Incapable of love. Freak. Geek. Sad. Lonely. Selfish. Secretive. Ungrateful. Unfriendly. Serial killer.

What's agitating about solitude is the inner voice telling you that you should be mated to somebody, that solitude is a mistake. The inner voice doesn't care about who you find. It just keeps pestering you, tormenting you …

"That's a very smart comment," Cole said, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. "From fear of touching _you_ and _myself _burning up like the sun, I can't take you to the hospital, either. But I can't just leave you here wounded like this. What were you thinking? When most people see guys with guns, they run shitless."

"Didn't you notice? I'm not a normal person," I said, closing my eyes and absorbing what water was left floating around in the air. And amazingly, I was able to stand up. Slowly, but surely. "And you aren't, either. Cole, is it? My name's Nérine. Do you have any idea what's happening to me?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. All I know is that that Hudson guy has some beef with me. And just the fact that he knows who you are doesn't make you comfortable to be around. How do I know you won't pull some crazy shit and blast me with whatever you can do with water?"

"Forgive me. I don't mean to get upset. But you are taking my world away from me, piece by little piece, and sometimes it just pisses me off. Sorry." I paused, picking up my i-Pod. "And you owe me another one of these, Cole."

"Sorry Nérine, but people can't be trusted, period. I barely know what to think of my own best friend now. Let alone some strange woman who just happens to have control over the very thing that can kill me."

I wanted to be more mature, more reasonable, I wanted to have a big, fat, forgiving heart that could contain all this rage and still find room for kind, beneficent love, but I didn't have it in me. I just didn't.

"Cole, I just want answers. I woke up one day, and I just started acting funny. I don't know how to control these powers, truthfully. You've got to know what I mean, right? How did you get your powers? Because I have no idea in hell how I got mine." This hatred overtook me, and I couldn't help myself. I wanted so much to forget the past, but it wouldn't go away, it hung around like an open wound that refused to scar over, an open window that no amount of muscle could shut. "I don't know about you, but I have a daughter. And I can't be in her life if these powers take over everything around me. She's basically the only family I have left, Cole. And I'll do anything to protect her."

Rage keeps the person who feels it company. It moves into the hollows left by grief and loss, and turns inside you like a dark furred animal that grows and fills you; it kills off loneliness and takes its place. Rage gives you edge, keeps your blood pumping, gives you a reason to get up in the morning. I am angry nearly every day of my life… but I have learned not to show it; and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another forty years to do so.

"This is just the thing I don't need. A detour," Cole snorted, folding his arms. "I'm telling you—crap. The bastard got my bag."

"_Fantastic_." I added, quirking my nose at the lightning-wielder. "So how are you going to get it back? I don't want anything to do with the guy. I'm not a superhero or some crap like that. What was in it? Can't you just get another one?"

"No, there was something important in there. If I get that bag back and anything's wrong with what's inside, his ass is done. I don't plan on taking anything from anyone, especially freaks like him." And then Cole turned around, as if he were ready to take off. I didn't want him to leave. At least, not yet anyway. After all, there's no point in hurting somebody who doesn't mean anything to you. My eyes just looked at him as he climbed a building. Once he made it to the top, he stopped. Would I be able to do that? "Try anything sneaky, and you light up like a firecracker. Though it is true that you can kill me, I can kill you just as easily. And I'm faster."

I rose a brow. "How do you think I'm getting up there?!" I half-yelled.

"You've got to be kiddin' me…" Cole carped, jumping down the building and landing with earth-shattering speed. The ground broke underneath him, and I let out a whistling sound.

"I take it you've got a plan?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips. "I don't feel too good about being next to you either, hot-shot. I don't exactly like the idea of death-by-lightning." I was just feeling lots of negative emotions. I don't think "negative emotions" is an accurate phrase. Emotions are emotions. We can't look at them as positive or negative, they are what they are. And they are your reality. All you have on your plate is your reality. You decide whether you look at your reality or live pretending these feelings don't exist.

"Hell," Cole muttered, pondering on what exactly should he do. "Like I said, I can't exactly _touch_ you. We're going to have to walk. Since Professor Obnoxious has some goons, be prepared to fight_."_

"So, where you taking me?"

"To Zeke's."


	3. Truly Amazing

**A/N:** Sorry, guys. I'm really sorry I had vanished for a while there. I had ... Well, no. I didn't have writer's block at all. I was just super lazy. XD

Yes, this chapter is only 3,000 words. I know. The other chapters were about 5,000 words, I apologize.

But what's 2,000 words?

I'll make up for it.

But seriously, does anyone else think that the inFAMOUS fandom is like, dead? That's one of the key reasons why I decided to update. Is there anyone out there? Is anyone alive and breathing?

* * *

**-: Chapter Three: Truly Amazing :-**

_And I see amazing  
And I feel it too  
I wish you could meet her  
'Cause she comes_ _and goes and when you see her you'll know_

_Love  
Truly Amazing  
Love for the fallen  
Truly Amazing  
Heal the brokenhearted  
Truly Amazing  
Love for the fallen_

_And I know amazing  
And I feel her too  
I wish she could meet you  
But if you dont have the time, she might run off and hide away_

-- "Truly Amazing" -- POD

It was quite strange… walking next to Cole throughout the city. I didn't know whether it was the fact that he was some kind of _lightning beacon,_ or that I was some kind of water tower. It was unsettling. The city streets were suspiciously silent, which made me uneasy. There was actually some one looking for me. Someone that _needed _me. Someone that would have went to great extremes to capture me. Maybe I was just overreacting. Dr. Hudson wanted Cole, right? It wasn't me that he wanted. Therefore, I had nothing to worry about, right?

I wouldn't be remembered if I had died now. I would be buried and mourned by a few… what more can I ask for? But I feel so tremendously alone, because I fear that my blood is not strong or good and my friends are few and embattled too. But so what? That is the answer. So what, what so, what so, what so, what so, so what. The world will spiral out from underneath me, and I'll find nothing to hold on to because I'm either too smart or too dumb to find God.

People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to annihilation. For in the books they write, they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead.

... There cannot 'be being' without the eclipse, the inward contradiction of non-being. But non-being which, according to the mystics, 'is so that being can be', presses on existence as does a vacuum on a membrane. Art brings vehement confirmation. At the heart of form lies a sadness, a trace of loss. A carving is the death of a stone.

In this world it is very difficult to know what to do. One struggles to know good from evil, but really they're so often so very much alike. I always think those people fortunate who are content to stand, without question, by the Ten Commandments, knowing exactly how to conduct themselves and propped up by the hope of paradise on the other. Cole was not a man of many words. He looked like he was the type to get things done and not squander on the time he spent doing so. He did not even bother to look at me. I looked in the other direction, trying to think things through.

Like Lydia Millet in _Oh Pure and Radiant Heart _said, beyond aspects of pain that are physical … sickness or injury or privation, beyond the so-called obvious, suffering can be a work of art. It can be made of buried and rising things, helpless and undiscovered, song of frustrated want, silence after desire. It can be the test of the self falling short, constrained, distorted, disturbed, or rebuffed, the vacuum left by longing, call without an answer. I had read enough books in my life time to nearly memorize things that broken people have said. My favorite author was Sylvia Plath. She was a lost soul and made her existence known through the use of her literature.

"Cole, can I ask you something?" I said, bringing my eyes back in front of me. The city was so dead. It was so far away from being brought to life again. "Are you a hero?" Yes, it was a stupid thing to ask, but I needed desperately to know. This man could have been my ticket to salvation; the person who—in the end—would save me from my own personal Apocalypse. He looked at me and kept up his steady pace. He was not going to let me slow him down, that was for sure.

"What kind of question is that?" he said sarcastically. "Who the hell do you think has kept this place from blowing straight to Hell?" Cole McGrawth looked plain without his backpack. He was fuming with rage... He had a tough time trying to hold his anger inside of him. Yes, I was nervous. You'll find in time that most people are. They simply learn better how to disguise it, and sometimes, if they're wise, how to use their anxiety to serve the public good. I knew how to hide being nervous. I found it paralyzingly difficult to make even the simplest decisions. So much hung in the balance, so many complicated parameters needed to be taken into consideration, yet always there was too little information, no way to know what outcomes could result. Life was a terrifying, invisible web of consequences. What mayhem might I unknowingly wreak by saying yes when I could have said no, by going east instead of west?

The answer he was looking for was _him._ It was he who saved this place from its appending Hell. I looked into the sky, my blank expression turning into one of confusion. "God," I answered. I was trying to test him; to get him to tell me if he really believed that there was a 'God' in the world. There was a time when I believed in the story and the scheme of salvation, so far as I could understand it, just as there was a time when I believed there was a Devil. … Suddenly the light broke through to me and I knew this God was a lie. … I sensed it was a silly story long before I dared to admit even to myself that it was a silly story. For indeed it is a silly story, and each generation nowadays swallows it with greater difficulty. … Why do people go on pretending about this Christianity?

I am convinced that everything that is worthwhile in the world has been accomplished by the free, inquiring, critical spirit, and that the preservation of this spirit is more important than any social system whatsoever. But the men of ritual and the men of barbarism are capable of shutting up the men of science and silencing them forever.

Who at the present day can imagine the courage, the devotion to principle, the intellectual and moral grandeur it once required to be an infidel, to brave the church, his racks, his fagots, his dungeons, his tongues of fire—to defy and scorn his heaven and his hell—his devil and his God?

Apparently Cole, because he did not look too happy when I said that "God" protected the city. "Listen Lady, if there was a God, I wouldn't have these damned powers, Trish would still be here with me, Zeke wouldn't of betrayed me, and more importantly, I wouldn't have to take you on a tour around town! I'm just surprised the Reapers haven't come and picked you off yet!"

"I thought so. So you are my only ticket out of here."

At first, Cole did not know what I was talking about. It soon clicked to him. "Yeah, you and about everyone else in this city," he scoffed. I would love to believe that God exists, but I am a logical thinker who looks at the facts before making any decisions. The fact of the matter is there are _no f_acts. What has God done for us lately? Where was God during the countless genocides that occurred this century? I have decided that God does not exist. God is just a myth used to keep humanity under control by different religious sects. Religion is just another word for control. Religion is power. Religion is money. It would be nice if there was such a thing as an omnipotent eternal being that really did care about us and once we died gave us a nice place to retire to. Somehow, it just seems like one big fairytale to me.

"Yes, this city is in shambles, isn't it? Cole... Then... If you are the one fighting to protect this city, then I want to be the one that helps you do so. My daughter lives in this city, and if this city falls, she falls." I could not have said that any other way. I did not want to believe that myself, but it was true. The truth often hurt, and it curdled up inside me like an unwanted infection out to steal my soul. I wanted to keep walking, but Cole put his hand out, keeping me from walking any further. I stepped in something a bit squishy. Something tar-like. I lifted up my foot and saw a black substance underneath my sneaker. I knew that wasn't there a moment ago... So something or someone was toying with us?

"Damn, don't tell me she can come back to life... What the hell is going on here?! First that damn doctor—now Sasha, of all people..." This didn't sound to good. Even though I gave the impression that I was unmovable... Untouchable... I was still very depressed and afraid for _not only _my life, but Cole's as well. My voice had gotten stuck inside of my throat and I croaked. Cole glanced at me, his eyes sending me a signal that said _"Pay attention, and you just might live." _

"Nérine, that's your name, right?" Cole yelled as he ran ahead of me. I struggled to keep up with him. I nodded my head, confused. "You're a conduit, and I know you don't know what the hell that is, so pay attention. There was this thing that blew up. You know about the explosion, right?" Yes. How could I forget about that damned explosion that had took my whole life away and played with it as if it was some kind of silly putty? "A conduit is a person who has powers like mine, or the ability to develop them. I don't know much right now, since everything has blown straight to fucking hell right now, but you either have the powers from birth, develop them, or they're "awakened" from the explosion."

"Cole... What are you...?"

"The Ray Sphere. It was a small little ball that those First Sons guys built that gave people special powers. At first, they started testing it on rats and crap, but when they started showing signs of getting special powers, they stopped and made sure none of those bastards live. And then they had me deliver a package. That package had the Ray Sphere in it, and if I would have known it was in there, I would have smashed it into a million pieces." Cole gritted his teeth, but he kept running steadily. "That thing killed everyone and gave me my powers." He paused, halting his running. "Don't even think for a second that all of that was my fault." I wouldn't. I could never condemn someone who was helping me of doing something like that.

"Anyway, like I was saying. This funny looking guy stole the Ray Sphere from John. Said he owned it or some shit like that. And then my best friend stole it from Alden—the funny looking guy—and I swear I would have killed them both. No, killed all three of them. Zeke, Alden, and Kessler..." With every word that flew out of Cole's mouth, he got more angry. But it was a silent anger. He knew how to control it, and I guess he had to. He had been living in a pain far worse than mine. "After that, Zeke tried to get powers like me. That jealous bastard... Of course it wasn't gonna work for him. But then Kessler got into his head and Zeke ended up giving him the thing..."

"Sounds like you have such nice friends," I said sarcastically, crossing my arms. I dislike having people 'confide' in me. Friends are useless things that can be thrown away and re-used. Cole gave me a weird look before he went on again.

"So Kessler ditched Zeke and eventually John and I found the Ray Sphere. I destroyed the damned thing, but John got caught up in the middle of it. Zeke's dumb-ass didn't realize that you have to be a conduit to activate it. I heard the thing could also give you more powers, but who the hell would want that? Let's just wrap up the whole story with saying that Kessler was me from the future, and he wanted to prepare me for 'The Beast.'" Cole rolled his eyes and leaned on the side of a building. "Maybe Sasha will tell me what The Beast is."

More than anything, I wanted to help Cole. I knew that there wasn't much I could do to help him, since he wasn't really telling me all of the story.

"So you think you're going to need help finding this 'Beast'?" I sighed. Never in a million years would I have imagined something like this to happen. Cole was obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions he thought were absurd. He lived attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions he despised, condemned, and knew nothing about. It was that permanent contradiction between his ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of his civilization which made him sad, troubled, and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict he lost all the joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppressed and restrain and checked the free play of his powers. That's the poisoned and mortal wound of the _civilized _world we lived in now.

"I don't need help. I would be better off if you went out on your own."

"You know fairly well that isn't an option, McGrawth," I answered back cryptically. He kept his steady, un-sure stare at me. "I'd never make it out alive. And then your help would disappear, wouldn't it?" I think Cole didn't take that the right way, and he started to walk off without telling me again.

"Then do whatever you want," he spat. "I'm done showing you around. I told you what you needed to know, so go do something. Go be a mother or whatever the hell you were doing before you met me."

"What if this were Hell?"

Cole stopped, and turned around to face me. I had his attention. Now all I needed to do was lock it in. "Hell: The abode of condemned souls and devils in some religions; the place of eternal punishment for the wicked after death, presided over by Satan. A situation or place of evil, misery, discord, or destruction. This is _our_ Hell, Cole. You can't run from it. You can't delouse yourself of it alone. While it sounds like you've had a harder time than I have, I've been through things and felt things that would make a grown man cry. Like it or not, but you're going to have to share that Hell with me now. We have our own, personal Hells—our Apocalypses—but this is a universal Hell—one I won't let you endure alone."

In the distance between us, this thing emerged from underneath the ground. Cole cursed to himself as I got a better look at the monster. It was some kind of bald... Grey-skinned thing that resembled a human. Fairly poorly, however. She had sharp claws and wore a long sleeve jacket that had a red hood on it. The lower portion of her body was covered in some kind of black... Tar... She turned towards Cole, looking almost robotic.

"Cole, you promised to meet me, remember?" Her voice was sweet sounding, but it had an evident hint of malice in it. "How dare you blow me off for this low-classed woman! I'll make you pay! But I love you, Cole dearest. It's nice to see your handsome face again even after all of these days..."

"Tch," Cole uttered, his hands lightning up. "We've been through this already, Sasha. I'm kind of in a hurry now, so I'll make this quick." Cole thrust his hands out and this magnetic electrical shield shot from his hands. It was fast; I almost didn't catch sight of it. This Sasha person that Cole was dreading to meet was caught off guard, being sent flying (more so floating) in the air. His lover? Apparently? She was flying_ towards me. _What was I going to do?!

I was a _conduit_ now, right?

The moister from underneath my feet was still there. The water in the air planted itself into the ground. The great thing about Cole? I could not dehydrate him. The water crackled around me like it was a whip, and then the water shot up my legs and into the palm of my right hand. I swung the water towards Sasha. She only seemed to bring him pain. I was successful in hitting her, but she disappeared within a tar-like smoke.

"We'll play later, Cole, mm'kay? Be sure to be at dinner by six, or you _will regret it. _Oh, what am I saying? I could never hurt my adorable little Cole..."

I had been imagining Cole as the chivalrous type—I thought he was going to run to help me and make sure that I was okay. I fell on my knees, my hands soaking up all of the water in the ground. I felt depleted after that little technique.

"Damn, so they're back, then. Or maybe the First Sons never killed Sasha off. She's one more thing that I have to worry about... Hurry up, Nérine, or you're going to fall behind." I got up quickly, energized and ready to run.

"Cole, sorry for my intrusion, but was that your girlfriend?"

"_My girlfriend is dead,_" he spat, with no real emotion. "It took me a long time to get over it, but I started thinking. What good would it of been to keep sulking around? The only thing I have to do to avenge her death is to kick this The Beast's ass." Death. It was an entity that took something dear from both of us.

And it was something that could have brought us inevitably together.


	4. Mistakes And Glories

**A/N:** Hi, guys!

I'm back again—writing another chapter for the fandom that I love so much. Did anyone get their Gameinformer yet? They're coming out with the inFAMOUS 2, and that's what made me decide that I needed to get my ass in gear. They've changed Cole's voice and everything. He might not be the same, sarcastic badass guy we all know and love anymore. Isn't that sad? Other people like the change but I'm with the people who screamed a big fat "Noooo!" when I saw him looking similar to Tony Hawk. XD;;

I have to say though, Into The Ocean was never a really long story—it was something that I chose to write when I was waiting on my beta in another fandom, so don't expect forty-something chapters. Though I'm positive I'll get this baby over 50,000 words soon. But then again, with the chapters being this short I might have that many chapters.

* * *

**-: Chapter Four: Mistakes and Glories :-**

_A coward dies a thousand times  
Death before dishonor, cross the thin red line  
So stay alive, (No other place to go)  
Silence the facts, delusions are corroded  
clench the fist in truth and shove it down your throats  
(Don't act like you don't know)  
I'm on the wrong path walkin the tight rope  
_

— POD — "Mistakes and Glories"

A house on top of a roof? How peculiar. But in this state of urgency, I knew this was close to normal in Empire City. The wind didn't blow like it used to so I managed to keep my balance on top of the complex. When Cole and I climbed up the ladders, he had specifically told me not to touch anything. At first I found this absolutely mind-crunching. I knew I was forbidden to touch _him_ (it was not like I wanted to) but everything else? Was it because his friend did not like women around him? Things were flying around inside of my head and that was due to the fact that I was a very critical thinker. I took in everything slowly to assess the situation.

Cole's friend was a rather chubby man. He was sitting on a couch looking at a twenty-inch television. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to have no care in the world. I wanted to do whatever I wanted and be with whoever I wanted. I was... Jealous of his friend without even meeting him. He looked at Cole and jumped out of his seat, throwing his arms out. Cole glanced at him before gritting his teeth, looking down at the ground. … That man was his friend, right? Then why did Cole seem so distant from him? So detached? I could sympathize with Cole's actions. I didn't like to communicate with people on that level either.

"Yo! Cole! Buddy, where have you been?" his friend exclaimed, walking closer towards him. Cole looked at him with a defensive stare, which prompted him to step back. "Oh I see you're still... Angry at me. But I'm glad to see you! It's been a while." It has been a while since what? Cole brought his gaze towards his friend, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. His big friend then glanced at me, holding his hand out. I blinked. Could I even touch him? Was he made of lightning too? You could never be careful in a world such as this one. Danger lurked around every corner—ready to strangle you and take away your sanity. It happened everyday. At work, at home, at school... You can't escape the constant danger no matter where you venture; no matter who you have tagging along with you. And since there is no God no one is safe. Not even Cole...

I could not be easy-going around this man. Being easy-going was not in my nature. I turned the other way and his friend gave me a faint frown. He was persistent, I'd give him that. He put on another smile which irritated Cole to no end.

"You find that there's something to smile about, Zeke?" Cole asked, standing his ground. I tried to figure out what Cole meant by that. There must have been something that happened between the two that I had no knowledge about. But yes, Cole was right. His friend's name was Zeke indeed. How did I forget such a fact? "I didn't come here to talk to you. I came to ask you if you heard any crap about a white-coat that goes by the name of Dr. Hudson. Real ugly bastard too. The idiot grabbed my bag when I wasn't looking... When I was worried about this chick right here."

Cole gestured towards me which made me look at him briefly. "Her name is Nérine. She's a conduit from what I know." Zeke glanced at me, nodding his head like he was just given some serious information. So did that mean I was a danger to even him now? If Cole had been right about what he had told me, he was a conduit himself, and for him to have such a relationship with Zeke... That must have meant that I wasn't as dangerous as I thought. Even so, aren't the things that seem the less dangerous usually are the worst things you want to cross? Animals, temptation, fate... You can't trust anyone.

"Nice to meet you Nérine. I'm Zeke." I nodded my head. I was pretty sure he had already gotten the message that I did not want to make any contact with him. Although... I could sense a little bit of disdain in his voice. As if Zeke did not like me as much as he should have. I looked the other way. "It must be hard being a conduit and all. Cole's had his fair share of trouble." He tried to laugh, but quite frankly, this was not a laughing matter. Cole touched his forehead, closing his eyes.

"Zeke, at least try to be focused, okay?" he said, sighing. "Now, like I said, do you have any idea about this white-coat bastard? I'm trying to get my bag back. You know what was inside of it that I need to have." Zeke scratched the back of his head, walking around us for a bit. Either he knew something about that doctor or he didn't. "C'mon Zeke. I thought you knew that I have a job to do around here since no one else is going to do it. The longer you wait the more people die." The longer you wait... The more people die... Cole made sense. However, I never understood that concept. How did Cole know who were suitable to save? If it was up to me... Everyone deserved to die.

No one was doing anything to save Empire city. They were all sitting around waiting for their 'God' to come and save them. Oh how people were so wonderfully brainwashed by a book that _people_ wrote many years ago. Since when has man every yielded to such imprudent lies? … The beginning of time. People are pushed by fear. Fear is what creates people. Even I am made out of fear. Fear is what makes me cling to Cole like a helpless animal—scared of being slaughtered by the unknown. If people were to dismiss fear... The city would be a better place. The world would be a better place. No one would know death and families could prosper.

"I can't say I do remember a guy like that Cole," Zeke answered back. Cole grunted, turning around. He did not want anything to do with Zeke. His behavior was throwing me for a loop. What was Cole's idea of a friend, then? No matter. I would not ask. Asking questions does not gain you more knowledge. Asking questions only confirms how little you know about the situation. People automatically see this as their own gain; they will use anyone that does not know what is going on around them. These are the people that hide. The people that don't know any better. The people that prey to God. I do not ask questions, therefore I am always in the loop. I sit, listen, and watch. Zeke threw his hand out towards us.

"Wait! Cole... Man... I was just wondering if..."

"No," Cole answered back briskly, turning around. How harsh of the hero.

"But don't you need a sidekick like old times?" Zeke was desperate with his question. He threw both of his arms out which made his stomach shake. A sidekick? Normally people did not want to throw themselves out with danger around. "I know I did some bad things in the past but I really want to make up for them! And now you just go out and pick up some chick—" I turned around, my eyes darting at the man.

"I have a name. I believe Cole told you what it was moments ago," I said, folding my arms. "Also, I do not believe I had a choice in coming with Cole. He is the only one who can help me right now—and if my evaluations of you are correct—you think _I _am Cole's sidekick? Really now?" I cocked a brow. "I am just as useful as you are. I do not know what I am doing, so don't assume such silly things."

"I think both of you have lost it," Cole interjected. "I don't_ need _anybody. I don't need a sidekick. You both'll just get in my way and make me lose important people. Like..." He didn't finish his sentence. He turned around and walked down the staircase. He did not simply jump off the building because he was with me, and he could not lose me. He stopped, turning around. "Zeke if you want to do something good, then get up off your ass and start learning more about that Dr. Hudson guy. He might have something to do with that damn Ray Sphere and Kessler. And you know what? Learning more about that guy might bring me closer to The Beast."

I quirked my nose. "I've heard everything. The Beast? What's this now?"

"You wouldn't understand," Cole replied icily. "And it's confusing, especially for someone like you. But let's just say there's this thing that—if I don't kick its ass—will kick _my_ ass. I was trained for this thing." He pointed at me. "You're in no condition to fight this thing. And I'm not letting you fight it. This is my kill. When The Beast comes I'll be ready. Zeke, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times over. This is not something you can just jump into. You'll die, and I won't care that you died, because you obviously didn't care when you handed off the Ray Sphere!" Zeke lowered his head.

"I was only trying to help, man..."

"Yeah well, only trying to help got Trish killed." From this I suspected that Trish was Cole's girlfriend, and that Zeke was to blame for her death. I looked down at the ground.

"My condolences then, Cole."

"That's long overdue," he answered back. He started to walk down the ladders and I followed him obediently. Once we made it off the roof sanctuary, Cole turned around and looked at me. He cracked his knuckles, mumbling something under his breath. I did not feel worthy enough to ask him what he had thought. I dusted myself off and looked ahead of us.

"What now?"

"What do you think?" he spat, walking in front of me. He had a habit of trying to leave me. I struggled trying to keep up with him to tell the honest truth. "Sasha, that white-coat guy... Nothing is starting to make sense anymore so we're going to go to the place where I first had a run-in with Sasha. I'll bet anything that she knows about our good friend." I folded my arms. Cole was quick to end a conversation. It was not like I wanted him to try and be friends with me anyhow. If he felt that we should not have that mutual bond, then I would respect his opinion. It would have been nice to at least have a friendship with the person that was going to help make my life a little brighter. Sill, I wasn't much for Cole's sarcasm.

"So we're about to go halfway across Empire City," I said, scratching my chin. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? There are all kinds of Reapers and things of that nature walking around here." Cole flexed his arm, blue lightning protruding from it. There it was again. The lightning made my stomach twist and turn. It made me want to jump away from him. He was an ass for doing that. I wasn't saying he did it on purpose, but he knew what kind of conduit I was. Still, I wasn't one to freak out over something like that. The depression inside of me made me almost apathetic; accident or not I wanted to die either way.

"Then we just kick their asses," he replied curtly. "Listen lady, you're not understanding anything about this situation. When you're the hero of a busted-up town like this, you don't care about being knocked around a few times. You always get back up because you have to."

"Ah. Agreeing to let me help you fight 'The Beast'?" I said, stopping. He turned around and looked at me as if I had a hole in my head. "You're talking to me like I'm one of your partners." I put my hands on my waist, my expression devoid of emotion, really. "Like I'm your new Zeke?"

"Shut the hell up lady," he spat, pointing at me. "You're twisting my words around. Like I said, Zeke was never my 'sidekick', and I don't need anyone helping me. You just follow me around, and since I can't get rid of you I at least want you to know how to fight so I don't have to run back and forward to help your ass." I figured that much. I was just checking to see if Cole was sure about his decision. "Look at everything around us. You would think that they would have dropped the damn quarantine." He calmed down a bit and I tapped my fingers on my arms.

I looked into the sky. We were in over our heads, weren't we?

"I believe, Cole McGrawth, that Zeke _did _make a dire mistake. But haven't we all? We are only human... And we get overtaken with greed. I know I shouldn't be saying this or considering it—since this is really none of my business—but if Zeke says he wants to help you, then why don't you let him do it? He can protect himself and you don't have to save him." I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the cars passing by us. "The only reason I'm saying this is because even though Zeke may have made mistakes, he's willing to make up for them. And that's saying a lot, considering how many people are just sitting on their butts watching the city crumble."

"Who the hell do you think you are, lady?" Cole asked, gritting his teeth. "You've got some nerve coming out of nowhere, becoming extra baggage for me, and then telling me that I should let Zeke come with me. I will leave you right here if you don't be quiet. I can't think with you nagging in my ear. I told Zeke if he wanted to help he'd keep watch—"

"Heeeey!" Hmph. So Zeke actually followed us here? He was running towards us, waving his arm in the air. Cole cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes. I let out a small chuckle. There was something about that man that was just... Enlightening. Like he brought a whole stand-up comedy act with him. Once he made it to us he bent over, trying to catch his breath. "Cole, man, look! I really want to get some of the action with you guys." What Zeke was trying to show us was a type of gun... It was pretty impressive. It was not like I had seen a gun before, but whoever made that knew what they were doing.

"Zeke, where the hell did you get something like that?" Cole asked, a bit intrigued. He was still put off by Zeke's presence, however.

"I... Grabbed it when you were fighting that Kessler guy. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you were still mad at me. It was on the ground where I had got the lights knocked out of me."

"Oh gee. More First Sons technology," Cole spat. "That thing looks like a laser. What does it do?"

Zeke put on a cheesy smile, standing up straight. He flashed the gun in front of us. "Well, I had been practicing with it on top of the roof. The bullets are like these things that spray out this kinda weird stuff. I'd show you but I don't know what'll happen if I shoot it too close to Nérine over there." Ah, he used and remembered my name this time. "It's a very good piece of free machinery! I've been polishing this baby ever since I found it. Able to put three thousand holes in one cloud." Heh. He thought he had a lot of power now.

"I'm a water conduit," I said, blinking. "Let's start this over. I'm Nérine."

"Zeke." He shook my hand and Cole rubbed his forehead.

"So you've got protection Zeke. But will it be enough to keep your ass out of my hair?" Cole said, looking at the two of us. "I just want both of you to remember... That when The Beast comes, you all better stay out of my way." Cole, without signaling us, started to walk forward. Zeke couldn't stop smiling. I bet he was happy that Cole had chose to take him with us. So we had another person to share our own personal hells with.

Even though Cole didn't look it, I could tell he was happy inside.

… At least a little bit?

If any at all?


End file.
